


the most wonderful time of the year

by spacenarwhal



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Kid Fic, M/M, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacenarwhal/pseuds/spacenarwhal
Summary: “Hey, where’s your can-do, go-getter attitude, Matty? This is Rosyposy’s first Christmas. As her fathers it’s our responsibility to commemorate it.”Matt grins, “Well, if it’s our responsibility. We’d better take it seriously.”





	the most wonderful time of the year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [returnsandreturns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/gifts).



**October 27 th **

“We’re not dressing her up as a devil.” Matt says while Foggy rustles the fourth infant costume in his direction.

“But Matty, it’s your _legacy_.” Foggy whines, though his breath hitches tellingly with repressed laughter.

Matt shakes his head, patting at Rosie’s back through her baby carrier, though she remains oblivious to the conversation, happily gumming at the teething beads hanging around Matt’s neck. She smells like talcum powder and the hypoallergic washing detergent, the lingering sweetness of the banana Matt sliced for her for her early afternoon snack.

Her small body is a sun-flare, radiating warmth through the padding of her carrier, the fabric of Matt’s sweater, it sinks right into Matt’s body and illuminates everything inside him. She wiggles when Matt curves a hand over the soft fleece hat covering her hair, but otherwise continues chewing on the rubber beads in her mouth.

“Fine,” Foggy sighs, disappointed but not defeated. “She’ll be an adorable pumpkin,” he sets the costume back on the rack and finally lets them move on to the next section of the store and hopefully the toothpaste they actually came here to buy.

“Oh, whoa, cover your super sniffer Murdock, your olfactory senses are about to get hit.”

Matt’s about to remind him that it doesn’t get much worse than changing a diaper in the middle of August, when it hits him, an assault of buzzing lights and mangled electronic carols, and yes, artificial peppermint and gingerbread and pine.

“Don’t tell me—”

Beside him, Foggy stalls the car, nodding. “Yep, it’s officially beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”

Matt shakes his head, squeezing Foggy’s arm so he’ll pick up the pace. “Oh, hey,” Foggy says, abandoning Matt and the car to wander over to a nearby display. “ _Baby’s First Christmas_ ornament. Look, Rosie, an ornament just for you. We’re talking sparkly snowflake Matt.” Foggy rests it in Matt’s open palm, and Matt can almost feel each individual speck of glitter that flakes loose and in to his hand. “It’s got a red ribbon at the top to hang off the tree. We’ve got to get it.”

“It’s October.” Matt answers, because it seems like reason enough to postpone buying things like Christmas ornaments. They have two bags of Halloween candy in their shopping cart, this really feels premature.

“Hey, where’s your can-do go-getter attitude, Matty? This is Rosyposy’s first Christmas. As her fathers it’s our responsibility to commemorate it.”

Foggy’s heart thrums in Matt’s ears, his excitement soft as silver, it shivers like the afternote of a struck bell in everything he does. Matt keeps thinking it’ll fade, turn to something less easily discernable in their everyday life, but it hasn’t yet. It remains as distinguished and singular as Matt’s own happiness, this impossible joy that only seems to grow every single day that passes with Rosie in their lives.

Matt grins, “Well, if it’s our responsibility. We’d better take it seriously.” Foggy pumps a fist in the air and carefully places the ornament in the cart. Rosie abandons the beads and grabs a fistful of Matt’s shirt collar and sticks that in her mouth again. “Just promise me we’re not going to become those parents that go way overboard for their kid’s first Christmas.”

Foggy holds out a fist and waits for Matt to knock his knuckles against his. “Of course not, we’re gonna keep it chill.”

 

**December 1st**

“You know Christmas is like four weeks away right?” Foggy asks Karen when she bursts into his office smiling maniacally and clutching a gift bag. There’s an ice skating scene on the front of the bag, all frosted blue and white glitter and ice-skating penguins playing hockey with candy canes. It’s sickeningly adorable.

“Think of this as a pre-Christmas Christmas gift.” Karen says, voice fairly bubbly, bounding over to Foggy’s desk and dropping the bag front of him. “Open it.”

Foggy raises an eyebrow but does as he’s told, sneaking glances at Karen’s pink face between removing layers of gossamer tissue paper.

“Geez Kare, it’s great but I think I’m gonna need a bigger size.” Foggy says, holding up a fluffy tulle skirt cinched with ribbons and a soft knit onesie, all of it done up in a significant shade of red, trimmed in gold and black. There’s even a miniature Santa hat with a fluffy white trimming and a pompom affixed to the end.

Karen holds up her hands, “I know, I know. But it’s so small and Rosie will look so cute and I just couldn’t resist myself. As godmother, I think it’s my sworn duty to buy Rosie as many ridiculous themed outfits as possible—”

Foggy cuts her off with a laugh. “My mom tried playing the same card at Thanksgiving.”

Karen nods, “Exactly. And we can all agree Rosie made a beautiful turkey.”

Foggy hums, not exactly sure how to reply to that statement.

“Besides, I think this would be an excellent candidate for the Christmas card.” Karen says nonchalantly, leaning oh-so-casually back in her chair.

Foggy furrows his brow. “Christmas card?”

-

“I don’t think it’s written anywhere we have to send a Christmas card.” Matt replies, sprawled out on the living room floor alongside Rosie. Rosie is happily whacking Matt with a small stuffed octopus.

Foggy frowns, flicking through their mail. It feels like some kind of kismet that there’s not one but three Christmas cards waiting for him, one from Candace and one from Aunt Linda and another from Tony Stark.

(Stark’s features a picture of a massive decked out Christmas tree and an entire production line’s worth of robots wearing Santa hats. Inside it just reads “Seasons Greetings”, Tony’s messy scrawl scribbled beneath it asking Matt if he’s been naughty or nice. Foggy does not understand this particular relationship at all seeing as Matt and Tony met in the courtroom before they ever met out on the streets.)

“Yeah, I know that.” Foggy says, chewing on his lip as he flips through the rest of the mail. Bill, bill, credit offer, bill. “It just, seems, like, maybe it would be nice. To have a picture of us. As a family.”

He doesn’t know why he feels nervous admitting as much. He’s taken dozens and dozens of pictures with Matt over the span of their relationship and never worried that Matt would feel some kind of way about it. Their shelves have pictures of them in front of the courthouse, their office, with Karen, on various holidays and special occasions.

There are pictures of Rosie too. The first picture the adoption agency ever sent them of Rosie, tiny and chubby and wide-eyed, is framed and surrounded by pictures of her documenting her life from the moment she arrived. There’s Rosie in her christening gown in Matt’s arms, standing on the steps of the church, Rosie wearing a green shamrock shirt on Saint Patrick’s day, Rosie smearing icing on her own face after sticking her hand into her first birthday cake.

He wants to have pictures to remember each and every single day of their lives and he wonders if Matt ever envies him, for having the option. Foggy feels guilty now for even thinking it.

Matt pushes himself to his feet, picks himself and Rosie up off the ground in a single fluid motion, brings them both closer to Foggy. “Hey,” he says, quietly, almost like he can read the conflict playing out in Foggy’s mind. “I think a family picture would be a great idea.” Rosie squirms and fusses like maybe she disagrees, but Matt comes closer still, kisses Foggy’s cheek, “Wanna show me what Karen bought Rosie?”

 

**December 12 th**

Rosie is happily humming in her carrier when Matt opens the door. The apartment smells like cinnamon and cardamom, ginger and molasses, and the faint scent of—“Plastic?” Matt asks the top of Rosie's head. She wiggles impatiently, as though reminding Matt it’s time to take her out of the carrier.

He sets his cane aside on the entryway table, walks the rest of the way into the apartment. There’s something draped over the hallway entrance, and something else draped over the windows, and the faint buzz of electricity thrumming through the room in new configurations from this morning.

“Matty, wait! I’m not done yet!” Foggy says, even as he rushes over, helping Matt free Rosie. He hefts her away from Matt’s chest with an elongated “whee” sound. He makes airplane noises as he sweeps her into the air and Rosie laughs, elated, squeaking when Foggy brings her back down only to raise her overhead again.

“Is our place a winter wonderland now?” Matt asks drily, trying to get the scope of the decorations. There’s definitely a lot of lights draped all over and Matt’s willing to go far enough to guess that the plastic smell is coming from the wire casing around those as well as the tinsel Foggy probably hung as well.

(Foggy once wore tinsel garland as a boa at a winter party back during their school days, Matt thinks it’s a safe bet to assume there’s tinsel present now.)

“Let me give you both the tour!” Foggy says, walking them in a circle around the living room. There are lights hung along every wall now and a wreath between the windows and a small artificial tree at the center of their dining table. “I figured we could hold out until she’s a little older to spring for a big tree. Also, I could never get one up here without enlisting Jessica and she refused.”

Rosie seems preoccupied as they walk, probably captivated by what sound like dozens of twinkle lights. She reaches out and makes eager noises when Foggy shows her a stuffed snowman he’s procured from somewhere to decorate the couch.

“Is there any mistletoe?” Matt asks after Rosie’s been set down in her play pen to the happy jingling of a bell that Matt thinks they’re going to regret giving her.

Foggy snorts, catches Matt by his belt loops and pulls him close for a kiss. “Matty, you know you don’t need seasonal foliage for smooches.”

Matt wrinkles his nose at the term smooches and Foggy laughs again, breath warm with peppermint and sugar when he leans in and kisses the tip of Matt’s nose. He leaves a sticky imprint behind.

“Oh, there’s one more thing I picked up while I was grabbing decorations.” Foggy says happily, slipping away to grab something off the table. “We don’t have a fireplace, I know but I was thinking we could hang them off the banister or something.” He holds something out to Matt, quilted and heavy, velvety-soft and plush under his fingertips. It doesn’t take him long to figure out it’s a stocking, the shape of it gives it away almost immediately. He touches the face of the trimming—more velveteen material that lies smooth—and traces the edge of a neatly stitched letter. The shape of the _M_ is slanted, elegant without being overly elaborate, still clearly legible under the pad of Matt’s pointer finger. He uses the tip of his nail to trace the smaller curve of the _a_ that follows, and the twin _t_ ’s linked at the end.

Foggy shifts, unfurls two other stockings. “I got one for each of us.” The next one he hands Matt is smaller, lighter, but the craftsmanship is just as good, Rosie’s name stitched on the trimming.

Matt’s never had anything like it before, not even before, when Dad was still around. Their Christmases were always happy, full of cheer and food and Midnight Mass, but they were never exactly lavish affairs full of the material trappings that mark the holiday in the mainstream imagination. The orphanage wasn’t much different on that count, though significantly lonelier, lunch and dinner manned by volunteers and clerics, someone dressed as Father Christmas, evening Mass where a select few performed in the children’s choir.

Now, as adults, it always seemed silly to go all out for a holiday that seems mostly geared at selling toys to children. When Matt met Foggy neither of them had had the money to buy each other flashy presents, usually made good buying one another a drink after winter finals and then ate dinner with the Nelsons. It’s a tradition they’ve expect alive ‘til today, even with the addition of money and friends. While they now do a small gift exchange at the office between Karen, Foggy, and himself, what Foggy’s done now, right here in their home, is the most _Christmas_ Matt’s ever had.

And it isn’t the stocking or the tinsel or the imaginary mistletoe, it’s Foggy. It’s knowing he put the effort into doing all this, the excited timber of his heart and the flush on his skin as he asks, “Too much?” It’s thinking of Rosie growing up surrounded by this, warm and happy and loved.

Matt shakes his head, swallows the lump in his throat that he can’t explain away. “No, not at all.”

 

**December 16 th**

“This has got to be a level of hell.” Foggy mumbles under his breath. Matt, even with earplugs shoved in his ears, shoots him a grin.

Foggy smiles weakly, hands curling over the handle of Rosie’s stroller. Inside Rosie is still mercifully entertained by the play tray affixed in front of her seat, bright blue baby headphones secured to her ears to cancel out the worst of the bustle and commotion of the shopping mall. Foggy almost wishes he had a pair of his own to drown out the noise of the crowds milling around the shops today. It’s like everywhere he looks there’s an entirely new pack of people, all of them harried and frazzled and looking distinctly uncheerful as they speed from store to store, laddened with bags of what Foggy can only infer are gifts.

That’s to say nothing of the line they’re currently standing in, winding and long, stretching almost to the food court, made up from head to tail of families waiting to get their picture taken with Santa Claus. The sign up ahead tells them they’ve still got an estimated thirty-minute wait before it’s their turn with the man of the hour and Foggy wants nothing more than to turn the stroller around and lead them back home. Or to the nearest Cinnabon. Maybe both.

But Mom had been clear that Aunt June, who was in no way actually related to him, an aunt due to proximity rather than blood or marriage, had been very clear that she expected a copy of the picture when she’d handed over the gift voucher during their last visit. “It would break her heart not to get a picture of Rosie to share with all her friends at the shop.” Mom had said, laying just the right amount of guilt to hook Foggy.

“Line’s moving.” Matt murmurs just before the line shuffles a few meager steps forward and Foggy carefully maneuvers the stroller, mindful of the couple in front of him with the flailing toddler who keeps making a break for it.

Foggy can’t blame him. He’d make a break for it too if he could. Considering the mayhem that was getting Rosie to take a picture for the Christmas card they still haven’t sent out to anyone—the poor photographer had been a seasoned professional but even she seemed flustered by the time Matty swooped to pick Rosie up, still red-faced and watery eyed in her Christmas finery—Foggy isn’t looking forward to a repeat.

“What if she freaks out?” Foggy asks once they’re closer to the display gingerbread house decked out in fake snow. “What if we scar her for life doing this?”

Matt chews his bottom lip, moves his hand off Foggy’s bicep and down the length of his arm until his palm is covering Foggy’s on the handle of the stroller. “She’s doing okay right now. She’s dry, and she’s fed, burped, her nap isn’t for another two hours. I think the odds are in our favors right now.”

“Okay, then what if I get scarred for life trying to do this, Matty? What then?”

Matt grins, “Then I’ll protect you.” He’s clearly enjoying the fact that he’s handling this trip better than Foggy is far too much.

Foggy sighs. "If years from now Rosyposy is suing us for emotional distress I'm throwing you under the bus and taking a deal." 

Foggy frowns. He's not trying to be a grinch or anything but this whole thing is turning him side ways. "You know, my grandpa used to tell us if we didn't go to sleep before midnight Santa Claus would take us away to work in his shop." Looking back, it might have something to do with his current feelings about their situation. 

Matt grins, shakes his head and knocks his shoulder against Foggy’s. “Growing up the nuns used to make us put our shoes out on Saint Nick's day, out into the hall and they’d put candy in them. I couldn’t eat any of it, it just—it always tasted like sweat to me.” Matt’s mouth twitches into a smile, small but honest. He doesn’t sound sorry for himself, just slightly mystified by life in general. Foggy can sympathize, even if he’ll never fully understand what it must have been like, growing up in an orphanage, never mind growing up constantly bombarded by sensory information.   

“Hey,” Foggy says after a moment, “What do you say we go grab a pretzel and head home. I can throw on a red sweater and you can sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas.” Rosie’s got years ahead of her to get her picture taken with a stranger in a mall.

Matt tips his head against Foggy’s shoulder, laughs quietly under his breath, “Sure. Or we can get this picture and then do that anyway.”

He presses a kiss to Foggy’s shoulder through his coat, rests his chin against his shoulder. “Even I’m not brave enough to go back to your mother empty handed, Foggy.”

Foggy groans quietly under his breath. “Coward.”

 

**December 24 th**

Christmas with the Nelsons is loud.

The soundwave hits him before they even cross the threshold but as soon as they’re inside it’s all noise and bodies, smells and sounds and people coming at him from every possible direction. Foggy’s hand squeezes at his wrist and Rosie’s already fussing, as startled by the change in atmosphere as Matt is, and Anna ducks through the flock of Nelsons welcoming them and wishing them a happy holiday to rescue them. It’s only slightly quieter in the bedroom she leads them to and she steps back outside after giving them each a hug, giving them a moment to themselves to shed their coats and remove Rosie from her carrier.

“You okay, buddy?” Foggy asks, worried and tired. Rosie slept poorly last night, another choppy night at the end of a week of turbulent nights.

“Fine, just, y’know, a lot.” Matt answers, holding his hands out for Rosie. Foggy passes her over without a word, lets Matt hold her to his chest, settle his nerves with the hummingbird quick flick of her pulse, her warm body secure in his arms, back rising and falling under his palm. He feels her slowly calm in his hold and his insides go warm to think he has the same effect on her that she has on him, to think of her recognizing him and being comforted by his nearness.

“I don’t think anyone will blame us if we bail early this year.” Foggy says quietly, reaching out to squeeze Matt’s shoulder, grip solid and reassuring, warmth bleeding through the fabric of Matt’s sweater, pin-pricks like the points of a star, easing tension from the muscle beneath.

“Your sister’s starting to wonder if we fell asleep in here.” Matt answers instead of agreeing immediately.

“Who could blame us?” Foggy says lightly, stroking the back of Rosie’s head. She’s starting to drool on Matt’s chest as she gums on her own hand.

They go back out into the fray, Rosie secure in Matt’s grasp until he has no choice but to relinquish her to Anna Nelson, who coos and sighs and marvels at her granddaughter. It isn’t as hard to step away from her knowing she’s well looked after, and Foggy takes Matt by the hand and leads him to the long tables set up across the living room laddened with food. The Nelsons have always known how to put on a meal and Christmas Eve is no exception.

Foggy loads Matt’s plate with pot roast and boiled cabbage and buttered potatoes and turnips and some of the empanadas that Caddy’s wife made, filled with picadillo, and then they steal some empty chairs and get drawn into a conversation with Foggy’s Uncle Iain about the latest scandal out of DC. Foggy’s hand strays to and from Matt’s knee as they eat, and then Foggy’s cousin Nick comes by with a bottle of whiskey and Matt raises his glass while the Nelson men toast  _slàinte_.

The noise level ebbs and grows, just like a the tide of the Hudson, and through it all Matt can hear Rosie, her high-pitched laughter, her affronted squawks, and finally her resting heart when someone—Foggy’s great Aunt Enid Matt thinks, based off the rose-water scent of her—calms her to sleep.

Edward Nelson walks Rosie back to the bedroom he shares with Anna, and Matt follows the creak of the mattress springs as he sets her down gently. Rosie barely stirs, but Edward remains seated on the mattress a while longer, the same way Foggy lingers over her crib whenever it’s his turn to put her to bed.

There will always be a part of Matt that imagines what Dad would say if he could see her. Dad would probably talk about Rosie’s size or how strong her grip is even now, or how determined she is to chew on anything she can catch. Matt thinks of his father and knows, beyond any shadow of a doubt that he’d have been the type to proudly parade his granddaughter around the whole Kitchen the same way he used to tote Matt around. “My boy’s got a good head on his shoulders”, he used to tell the guys down at Fogwell’s, “Brain like his, no way he ain’t going places.” Matt can almost hear him now, praising Rosie the same way, talking about how smart she must be based off nothing more than a yawn.

There will always be a part of Matt that wants that for his daughter as much as he wishes he could still have Dad for himself.

Edward’s voice is ungentle, but it has all the same warmth as Foggy’s does when he sings, and Rosie sleeps, undisturbed as her grandfather sings her a lullaby.

 

**December 25 th**

Christmas morning starts at 3 a.m. when Rosie wakes them up, hungry and cranky in a wet diaper. Matt rolls out of bed and heads to the kitchen to warm a bottle and Foggy shuffles off towards her small nursey, a glorified closest that will need to be renovated and enlarged before she’s much older. She kicks and flails while Foggy changes her, makes it nearly impossible to wipe her clean but Foggy has never been anything if not determined, so he perseveres, successfully get her clean and powdered and back into her diaper and onesie.

Matt’s long since taken up residence in the rocking chair squeezed into the corner of the room by then, warmed bottle secure in his hand, but Foggy picks Maggie up and leads them back to their room. He gives Rosie over to Matt there and watches her latch on to the nipple of the bottle, watches her face as she slowly grows full and sleepy again, milk bubbles gathering around her mouth as she drinks. Matt’s a bonafided baby burper by now, knows just how to position Rosie and pat her back and get her to burp with minimal strife for either of them, doesn’t do more than wipe at his bare shoulder where some of her spit up missed the towel and then tosses the thing to the laundry hamper with his wizard like precision.

As tempting as it is to fall back to sleep with Rosie in bed with them, Matt gets up and walks her back to her nursey once Foggy’s whispered goodnight to her again.

Foggy’s half-asleep by the time Matt slips back into bed, has just enough brainpower left to roll into Matt’s side, arm swung over his chest, one hand covering the small golden crucifix hanging from it’s black cord, resting against Matt’s collarbone.

“Did Santa come?” Foggy whispers and Matt shushes him, kisses his forehead and tells him to go to sleep.

When they wake up again its considerably later, and they have just enough time to get themselves decent before Karen’s knocking at their door.

She immediately makes a beeline for Rosie, playing in her pen, and Foggy stands at the door, mouth hanging open in faux aghast. “Merry Christmas to you, Kare.”

Rosie takes a hold of Karen’s braid and Matt helps extract it from her tiny fierce fist. They get caught up in a flurry of activities, Karen entertaining Rosie while Foggy and Matt maneuver around the kitchen, putting together their late breakfast. Foggy sets the table, hesitating only slightly as he sets down the fourth place setting, glancing up at Karen who smiles reassuringly, still pointing at the pages of the board book open on her lap in front of her and Rosie.

Matt’s frowning at the eggs he tips out of the pan, hands at his hips as though surveying his work. It’s bit more than their usual brunch spread, their traditional bagels and lox and omelets paired with fruit salad and bacon and home fries and oven roasted vegetables.

Foggy walks over and wraps an arm around Matt’s waist, “Looks great babe. She’s gonna love it.”

Matt opens his mouth but nothing comes out, his back going slightly rigid in a way Foggy’s learned means he’s picking something up. “She here?” Foggy asks moments before there’s a knock at the door and then Karen’s standing up, giving them both a second alone while she goes to let their guest in.

Sister Maggie looks smaller outside of her usual black attire, her demure brown dress falling pass her knees over green tights that are probably the most color Foggy’s ever seen her wear. Her brown hair is combed neat and secured in an equally neat bun, the shape of her face different without her habit to frame it. But her eyes are still the same shade of brown as her son’s, her jaw carries that distinct stubbornness Foggy’s come to think of as a hundred percent Murdock though he guesses it’s actually fifty percent Grace.

“Sister Maggie,” Foggy says, stepping forward to offer her his hand. “Merry Christmas.” She smiles, and that’s the same guarded but genuine smile he’s seen Matt give a hundred times, and Foggy will never get tired of catching glimpses of Matt in another person, of getting to know the woman who shaped Matt with her absence as much as she has in the short years of being back in his life.

“Thank you for inviting me.” Sister Maggie answers, polite and nervous, Foggy realizes, feeling stupid himself for not thinking of it sooner. This is the first year she’s ever taken him up on the invitation. The slow steady pace at which she and Matt had previously approached their relationship was thrown for a tailspin when they adopted Rosie, but this is the first time she’s been in their home without a sizable group of people present with her.       

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Matt says, stepping forward and Sister Maggie’s face softens, and quiet type of tragedy in her features as Matt extends himself in a hug. They hold each other for a second, and neither of them looks sure of themselves as they step apart. Maggie touches Matt’s face briefly, smile shaky but pure, before she straightens, imposing and steady as ever. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nope, we’re all done here.” Foggy answers, grabbing one of the countless dishes of food and heading for the table, “Time to eat.”

He’s surprised when Maggie asks to hold Rosie while they eat, watches her as she feeds her granddaughter small pieces of egg and fruit off her plate. Karen keeps the conversation going when Matt falters into silence, a slightly overwhelmed look on his face, and Foggy nudges his leg against the length of Matt’s shin to remind him he’s there.

It isn’t effortless but it is nice in its own way, sitting at their table with their family present, Rosie laughing as her grandmother tickles her and peppers kisses on her face and the backs of her hands.

Afterward there’s no stopping Maggie as she helps them clean and then Karen’s heading back to her place with a bag heavy with leftovers. They’ll do Chinese takeout later tonight like they do every other year and Foggy reminds her not to skimp on the pork buns when she orders.

Sister Maggie crouches to say goodbye to Rosie, in her play pen once more, surrounded by the bounty of new toys she opened this morning, and then she straightens again, turning to Matt. “Will I see you at evening Mass?” She asks, referring to their previous tradition, and Matt nods now, motioning towards Foggy and then Rosie. “Save us a spot?” He asks, some of the nervous Foggy saw yesterday morning when Matt asked him to accompany him to church present in his face while he waits for his mother to answer.

Sister Maggie nods, trepidation turning to warmth as she smiles, “Of course. I’ll see you all there.”

She hugs Foggy goodbye before she goes, her frame small and slight but her grip strong as she thanks him again for inviting her. “Of course,” Foggy answers, voice oddly tight, “You’re family.”

Her eyes looks suspiciously bright when she pulls away but then Matt’s escorting to the door and Foggy’s standing there, next to Rosie’s play pen, watching her gnaw on a stuffed reindeer.

Matt comes back around the end of the hall, scratching at the back of his head and Foggy opens his arm to him, lets Matt walk right into them. “Christmas nap?” He asks, walking them both backwards towards the couch.

“Christmas nap.” Matt agrees, still looking a little dazed himself, and Foggy kisses him quick and warm.

“There’s definitely mistletoe over the couch, just so you know.” Foggy teases, and Matt grins, lets Foggy lift his glasses off his face.

“Liar.” Matt says without an iota of accusation in his voice.

“ _Fa la la_   _la la, la la_ —” Matt cuts Foggy short when he shoves him back onto the couch. Rosie laughs from her play pen. She’s clearly taking too much after her father.


End file.
